Illusions
by Bazylia de Grean
Summary: 'Iris has always been in love with power, and witnessing the real might of Trent's talent enrages her, but it is also enticing, in its own way. Trent is a man she will never be able to control or manipulate. Trent is the kind of man she cannot help but admire.' Beginnings of Trent and Iris' marriage.


**. . .**

**Illusions**

**. . .**

When Iris is announced the decision, she almost chokes on sudden euphoria. She will be Queen, as befits a Sorceress of her stature. Queens do not rule Xanth, but she will be the first to change that. Oh, yes, she will.

She has heard of Trent, of course – they are almost peers when it comes to age. They are equals in terms of their magical talents. Trent can transforms living creatures – but only those. Iris can weave anything out of most crude and basic things, or even thin air – she can wears rags and on her they will turns into a most queenly gown, she can tie a blade of grass on her fingers and it will become a precious ring of incomparable quality. She can take years off her face without the help of the Fountain of Youth. Surely hers is the greater magic?

_Iris' magic can touch anything, but it is only a projection of wishes onto the real world, no matter how perfect and misleading, and deep in her heart Iris knows her magic is only temporary. Trent can _alter_ reality._

. . .

Most of those supposed to be present at their wedding know her true face, but Iris still puts on an illusion. In the mirror, she sees a younger, more beautiful version of herself – such is her vanity. Her face is not that of a twenty-year-old girl, but of a woman about thirty, confident of her magic and in herself. This is the face of a Queen.

After the wedding, she is awaiting her husband anxiously. Oh, not because she is so eager for her wedding night, no. Iris finally is Queen, and she is simply drunk with power.

So far, Trent has been nothing but polite to her, but he is bound to express some respect for her talent at some point. He would not do that among others, so it would not dim his own talent – yes, Iris can understand that.

_Trent does not come, not this night, nor the next. It takes Iris a week to understand she understands nothing about him._

. . .

There is a knock on the door. When Trent enters, Iris is even ready to greet him warmly – by her own standards of warmth, of course. Well, he is her husband, after all – _husband_, she managed to marry the man considered the most powerful Magician alive, because she deserves no less.

Trent says nothing, only looks into her eyes. At first, she is just baffled by his stare. But then Iris feels her body begins to change. She _does_ turn into that younger, prettier version of herself. No, not she. _Trent_ transforms her. Only now Iris understands that her magic, no matter how enticing and powerful, no matter how detailed and realistic, in no real power.

Iris wishes very much she could seem unimpressed right now, but she can only manage a small and somehow strained: "Why?" Some part of her still hopes it is a tribute, however strange, to her magic.

Trent's face remains, as always when he is dealing with her, politely impassive. "We're going to need an heir, at some point." He bows his head a little in a short, slightly mocking gesture, then turns and leaves. Iris stares at the closing door, speechless.

Finally, she learns there is magic greater than hers, feels it. She is surprised, shocked by how hard it hits her. She vows never to let anyone else know of this little victory of his, to always wear an illusion of her old self. Vanity be damned, but Iris will not take such a blow to her pride.

_Iris has always been in love with power, and witnessing the real might of Trent's talent enrages her, but it is also enticing, in its own way. Trent is a man she will never be able to control or manipulate. Trent is the kind of man she cannot help but admire. Trent is the kind of man she could fall in love with._

. . .

This is not her, this is not him. Again. This is Iris' most grand illusion, because – a true shock as it dawns on her – she wants it to be _him_ and _her_. Trent bites back another woman's name, and Iris realises she will never be more to him than yet another duty.

When Trent gets up and leaves, just like that, Iris swallows tears of rage and hurt. She grits her teeth and silently vows she will never let Trent as much as guess her feelings. She will be cold, she will be sour, her words will be acid. She will make him unhappy, as he has made her. In time, she will even convince herself she does not love him.

_Iris has always been a Mistress of Illusions._


End file.
